the sound of wings beating
by kite the slakoth
Summary: A collection of fanfics I started and never completed. Feel free to take an idea and run with it. Rated M for graphic descriptions.
1. Harry PotterIwatobi Swim Club

When Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia announced the trip to Tokyo, Harry wasn't sure he had heard them right. The worn bag that the fourteen year old often kept with him sat at his feet, ignored as he stared at both of them incredulously. A trip to Japan? That was quite… surprising. Especially since Vernon had recently got demoted and had verbally flayed into Harry as soon as he had arrived back at Privet Drive.

"Japan?" he inquired dully, shoving recent events to the back of his mind as he focused on this confusing new development.

"We thought that the family could do with something new." Petunia replied flatly, her cornwall blue eyes unconcerned as she thinned her lips in disapproval. "We won four tickets to Tokyo."

"Marge couldn't come, she's sick with the influenza," Vernon grunted from his position in his armchair. The arms on the chair had been pushed out to the side so often, the chair was beginning to look like it was wilting in on itself.

"Yvonne is in Majorca on her yearly family trip," flipping her ash blonde hair over her head, she craned her tall neck over the top of the couch to eye Harry with some scorn. "Mrs. Figg has left on some business, selling her latest litter of those little fleabags."

Pursing his lips, he aimed a questioning stare at his uncle. "Where am I staying this year, then?" he inquired quietly, not willing to argue with the Dursley patriarch this early in the morning. If he wanted to be honest with himself, Harry just wanted to be left alone this summer. If he could just stay home for once-

"You're coming with us." Vernon ground out reluctantly as he pressed a series of buttons on the TV remote. The black and white screen of the American western that was on flickered black as the television was turned out. "We're not exactly happy, but there's no-one willing to take you in." He narrowed his beady little gray eyes on Harry, making a displeased noise as he reached over to pick-up the newspaper that lay on the coffee table.

Harry stifled the urge to sigh as he ran his hand through his messy black hair, staring incomprehensibly at the black TV screen. His reflection stared back at him emptily, his pointed face blank as he traced his high cheekbones with his thumb. The one year where he could possibly be alone for the summer, and his relatives had to take a free vacation to Tokyo.

Though… this could be his way out of Britain. The flaws and inconsistencies in the ritual that had revived Voldemort had actually exploded by the time Harry's blood was added. The phoenix tears in his life source, combined with the destructive properties of basilisk venom was remarkably potent in his blood to the point where potions or rituals that needed it would explode and backfire brilliantly in his face.

Thus, Voldemort had not foreseen his incredibly early demise. Not to mention Pettigrew had blown up rather spectacularly himself, so when Harry Portkeyed back to the TriWizard maze with the dead body of Cedric Diggory, he had been met with complete silence. A single, questioning gaze towards the Headmaster had his veins run cold.

Despite looking remarkably worried for him, Dumbledore had his hands tied behind him. Hermione Granger, peering out smugly behind the black robes of Minister Fudge, seemed particularly satisfied about something. Ron was glaring ferociously at the Muggleborn, seemingly wanting to spit fire at her.

It was at that moment that Harry had passed out. He woke up in the infirmary around midnight, sweat drenching his forehead as he frantically sat up. Gasping and panting, Harry had been found later that night shivering in the corner of the room. Lake green eyes so previously filled with slight humor and kindness were curiously blank, though the tear-tracks that made the way down his cheeks were a telling sign of his nightmares.

Much to his relief, Dumbledore had come into the infirmary that morning shackle-free. However, what he was told next would shake his very world to the core. The Ministry would be attempting to take what was left of his parents fortune in order to repay the debts he owed to the Diggory, MacMillian, and Prince families. They couldn't do that! Couldn't they?

Apparently they could definitely try. Within the next few days, he was supposed to make his way to Gringotts. Instead of waiting a few days, Harry had immediately said he was available to go right then and there. Once stepping onto the cool marble floor of the bank, he sought out the closest goblin to inquire where he could find an account manager.

The Potter manager was a sneering goblin by the name of Adkar, who oversaw his family's finance. While he wasn't rich by any means, he was well off to the point where he wouldn't have to work for a few years after Hogwarts. Until then, if he wanted to, he could technically slowly drain them. However, his parents' assets were in danger of being seized.

Working with Adkar, Grukkus, and Furlor bore fruits of what would happen to the money. For a small fee, they transferred all of the money to a completely new vault under a different name. Yugure-Toko Harison. Admittedly, taking up the Japanese elective in primary school had been extremely useful. His limited knowledge of the language, upon query, actually gained a rather curious look from Grukkus.

He was one of the goblins that worked for their branch in Tokyo, so upon learning that Harry was fascinated by the language and could tentatively speak a conversation in it, he offered to pierce the boy's tongue and ear for him. When fastened to either ear, it gave him the ability to understand whatever language he wished. The one that pierced his tongue would be able to have him fluently speak any language he desired.

A far less painful option was a capsule that he could dissolve on his tongue. Once dissolved, he would gain fluent understanding in the specific language he asked for it in. Not to mention it was far cheaper. It took a few hours and various bickering with the goblins when he placed two orders for the capsules. One in Gobbledygook and the other in Japanese.

Now, he simply stared at his relatives in resolute bewilderment. The curious thing about this 'vacation' was that it was in Tokyo. Did the Goblins somehow manage to factor this in? Did Dumbledore figure out his running away plans? Maybe Ron? Someone magical that cared for him? A faint pang of loss hit him as he remembered the distinctly satisfied look on Hermione's face.

What had she told the Minister? The higher-ups? Why had Dumbledore been in cuffs? More questions arose as he thought of it, a faint frown tugging at his lips as he stared at the carpet. A faint 'hm' of curiosity escaped him, before he lifted his eyes to examine his aunt and uncle with dully fascinated eyes. "Would it be possible to cancel the flight back for one of the tickets?" he inquired, twisting his fingers slowly together and thoughtfully gnawing on his lower lip.

Vernon narrowed his beady little eyes at his nephew, reminding Harry of Pettigrew in the graveyard and causing a hot flash of loathing to fill him. With all of his might, he struggled to look away and merely glared a hole in the floor instead. "Why would we do that?" he grunted out, but was stopped by Petunia's thoughtful stare.

"I wouldn't have to come back here anymore," Harry muttered, picking at some of the cuticles on his right hand. "I need to get away from the European wizarding world, and the East Asian one is a lot more reasonable than the one here. The Japanese school, Mahoutokoro is somewhere in Japan and the isles around it. I think it's in a mountain. I could go there at a lower cost rate than Hogwarts and its a hell of a lot better than the education here." The nearly fifteen year old had to clamp his mouth shut from rambling even more.

"Would you be able to go to normal school as well?" Petunia cut in from his harried mumbling, rolling her eyes. "Don't mumble, it's unbefitting." The woman sniffed haughtily, picking up her tea-cup and taking a slow sip from it. Her nose crinkled, was it cold? "Go get me a hot cup of tea, boy. I'll discuss it with Vernon." Without waiting for an answer to his question, she shoved him through the door with a brief flutter of fingers over his shoulders.

As he picked through the nearly empty tin of Earl Gray leaves, Harry contemplated the woman's question. He could probably get a tutor over in Japan to get his grades up so he could take the OWLs to the international standards and get his assignments mailed to him by owl. Speaking of owls... Hedwig couldn't go with him. Maybe she could go stay with the Weasleys as their new owl to replace Errol.


	2. Harry Potter - Pokemon

_The high-pitched, deranged cackle of Voldemort's right-hand rang out behind him, a mocking sound that made him scrabble for something to cling to as she peered through the edges and orifices of rotting wood. "Come out, come out, little Potter," she cackled, raking her fingers down the back of a shelf. Something cold dripped down his spine as her nails slowly raked across the wood, slicing through like steel and sounding like it was chalk being forcibly driven down a chalkboard._

_He could see faint movement through the shadowy masses that covered the room like a heavy fog, stubbornly clinging to the corners of the walls and sinking through open spaces. In other words, he was blind as a bat and stuck to listening to his surroundings. Harry James Potter was totally and utterly fucked._

_The sounds around him were muted, his heart throbbing at the bottom of his throat as he pressed himself against the cool cement wall of the building. Shattered glass from the prophecies that had been there littered the floor, combining with each other to make disjointed voices and wispy mutterings._

_Harry's fingers tightened around the wand in his right hand, eyes flitting around and sifting through the smoky remains of the chamber. Then all of a sudden he saw red- red as the eyes of his enemy, crimson as the blood that he knew ran in his veins, scarlet as the plumage of a phoenix, a warm orange that flickered like the flames of a hot fire… above it all he could hear high-pitched screams of agony._

_Shrieks that belonged to him, he realized. Flashes of red, illuminating neon green, purple, grey, blue, white, dark green, brownblacksilverorangeyellow- he was still screaming, knives digging into his skin and ripping him apart- he sucked in a desperate gasp, ignoring the screams of 'HARRYHARRYHARRY' he thought was being repeated over and over by one person._

_He choked on his own breaths, gasping and wheezing through his screeches._

"WHY IS HE STILL SCREAMING?"

_Who- where- huh? Nononono it still hurt. The knives were still there, digging deeper and deeper into his flesh. Carving out the words that he could see flashing behind his eyes. Mudblood, the voice whispered harshly, twisting and writhing and seeping into his mind. Half-breed. Freak. Worthless. Wh-who?_

_The cackling had never let up, only now there was a choked gasp- the knives stopped abruptly. Sheer relief flooded through him, filling his veins with endorphins and causing his vision to nearly white-out from the crackling of explosions he could see._

"S-s-s-" _he could barely speak, choking out monosyllabic letters. Everything was greying out, sparking white and seeping black… what was happening?_ "H-h-h-"

"Stop him from trying to speak, his vocal chords are damaged!"

_Why- why- why- Harry stifled the urge to giggle hysterically, though he might have not succeeded as something cool ran down his throat, relieving it of the burningscratching feeling that submerged him from head to toe._

"Something is wrong!"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

_A muggle phrase! Oh, goody! From there, everything that he heard was something akin to everyone permanently inhaling helium. Every time they spoke, he erupted into a mess of laughter. His laughter was horrible, Merlin's beard. It sounded like he was silently cackling, with a mixture of raspy chokes and unfortunate high-pitched squeaks._

_In between his rusty laughter, he could feel something brushing up against his insides and slowly beginning to settle. Every time it would feel like it was going to sink inside of him, it would dissipate. The high-pitched, confused noises sent him into fits of his creaky laughter once more, while occasionally something would run through his hair._

_Were they casting spells at him? As he abruptly ceased his laughter, Harry realized he could barely see anything through the white that splattered across his vision every time he moved._

"What's wrong with him?"

_Yes, that was the question. At the moment, he could barely see anything and he was twitching. Twitching and spasming across something cold, metallic._

"Well, would you be okay if you were held under the Cruciatus for longer than the Longbottoms?" _This was someone he could tolerate; another raspy chortle escaped him at this errant thought. Wait- the Longbottoms. Was this what it was like, being like them? No, no.. death would be better than this._

"Well, shit."

"My thoughts exactly."


	3. Harry Potter - Destiny

The first thing to go from his memory was his name, his identity. However, despite his memory depleting as fast as he tried to remember things, he never quite lost his perception or his curiosity.

The white expanse was as clean as a hospital, extending in all directions. Each footstep forward, he knew he was walking across something akin to a floor. Yet he could not make anything out. It was just a blank canvas, waiting for someone's fingers to mold and shape it to their will. But when he stretched his own hand out, aching to touch something, he couldn't feel a thing. Something inside of him wept at the absence of anything substantial, something solid.

Yet, there was something that he couldn't quite remember about the area. Every time he moved, even a twitch of a finger, remembering became even harder. Memories of red-haired boys and bushy-haired girls slipped away from him. And when he became aware of it, they would go even faster.

He sat down on the ground, fiddling with his pale fingers and watching the white expanse in rampant curiosity. Where was he again? Somewhere white, somewhere that he kept wandering around and trying to touch things.

The palms of his hand itched, and he stared down at them in open fascination. He hadn't felt this so far! What was that kind of sensation? His palms prickled again, expanding to his fingertips and the backs of his hands. Fingers twitching and idly scratching at the prickling sensation, he became aware that it was slowly moving up his wrists and was somewhere near his elbows at the point.

It was getting faster, sinking even deeper into his skin and spreading further all over his body. He had to frown at this, pulling his hands through his mess of black hair and trying to figure out the cause of his tingling body. His feet were starting to hurt, the tingling getting worse as he sat down more on his feet.

It was almost like he was losing the feeling in his limbs, like when he sat down for a long period of time and just stared at the white, tracing patterns with his eyes. And- well- just tried to think of anything. It was a wonder he could even think of thoughts, but sometimes there were episodes where his mind blanked and he forgot what he was thinking of.

Memory was funny like that.

-dian.

He jolted at the word, blinking owlishly at his lap and pausing in mid-scratch. What?

-ardian!

He sat up straight, spine cracking slightly as he flicked his gaze around.

-ake up, Guardian!

Guardian? What was a guardian? Gaaaaaar-diiiiii-eeeehn. He tested the word out with his mouth, over-extending the vowels in his piqued curiosity.

Something in his chest twanged and for a moment his vision went as white as the expanse, not even showing his hands as he was jolted and-

Oh.

His eyes fluttered slightly as his area of affect was abruptly drowned in utter blackness, making him flail slightly in fear.

"Guardian, you're awake!"

What?

How did he- Oh. His eyes flew open in surprise and for a moment he just stared around him, drinking in the surroundings and his mind going completely silent. The sky above him was blueblueblue, dotted with white streaks- clouds-

"Hey! Guardian! Eyes to me!"

At the words, his eyes flitted towards a little white… star… shaped... thing. It's voice was accented slightly, a robotic kind of masculine that lilted upwards oddly in random spots.

"Whhhoo…" He blinked in surprise as his voice came out audibly into an extremely raspy, slightly deep tone. "Who are you? What are you?"

It's little blue eye blinked, and it dipped slightly as if giving a large sigh. "I'm a Ghost. Actually, your Ghost. I've been looking for you for a long, long, loooong time."

Okay that's weird. "I…" he paused slightly. "Uh, where am I."

The 'Ghost' whirled around, peering around the rubbles of large gray stone and giving an odd sort of metallic wheeze. "It seems like we're in Scotland, a place we lost ages ago to the Fallen." It blinked oddly at him, another metallic wheeze shaking its frame. "We shouldn't be here. Attempting to contact nearest Guardian for evacuation."

The white plating of its metal frame glinted oddly in the sun's rays, clear among the dark grays and browns of the environment. As it seemed to blink slightly and flit around like an angry bird, he looked around his body with some curiosity. Glancing down to his fingers, he could feel his lips twitching upwards in an odd muscular motion. He once more looked around, wobbling unsteadily to his feet and settling his gaze on the ruins of an enormous building in front of him. A.. castle? He blinked owlishly at it, an odd feeling of sadness weighing down his limbs as he observed the facilities.

Inhaling the cool air greedily, he switched his attention to the dark trees littering the background behind the immense castle and the glittering dark blue-gray of the lake next to it. What even was this place? He paused for a moment to just revel in the clarity of the situation, the crispness of the air a balm to his soul.

The Ghost let out a metallic buzz of irritation, swooping down among the dead grass and bumping lightly against a spare piece of stone. He flicked a questioning gaze to the little mech, squatting and running his hand through the turf.

"The area is still spotty after all these years?" It muttered, it's light flicking over the stone building as irritation thrummed through its mechanical voice. "Frickin' magicals and their stupid wars."

At the word 'magicals,' something in him prickled uneasily at the word. "Magicals?" he queried with some uncertainty, wondering why it sounded so familiar.

"An extinct race of humans who practically destroyed their own population after a series of wars after one and another." the Ghost replied, its light staring steadily at the human next to it. "First was the war with Grindelwald, next was Voldemort and a period of fourteen years of peace, then it was the non-magicals after their discovery. Such a waste of good guardians," its voice was soft, wistful. "This place was known as Hogwarts. It got bombed when the non-magicals set their sights on it as an opportunity to get rid of what they called 'pests.' Nobody survived the blast. Now? There's no magicals left." the Ghost flicked its gaze back towards him, scanning his body and chirping mechanically at him.

**A/N: now this one I'm gonna complete. It's a Destiny/Harry Potter crossover and there aren't too many of those. I love the mixture of the two~ I think Harry would make for a fantastic Warlock or Hunter.**


	4. Harry Potter - Stardew Valley

The first time he had ever heard of Stardew Valley was when he was seven, his aunt mentioning a letter to him that was given to her by her grandfather. She had been complaining about the rural side of the city at the time, before pausing for a few minutes in unnatural silence. He, too, had paused in wiping one of the plates and eyed Petunia for a minute. The pale woman was staring at the floor, her mousy brown hair damp with sweat from the afternoon heat.

Then she spoke of the letter, a strangely wistful tinge to her voice. It wasn't something he had ever heard from her.

The second was when he was eleven, his aunt giving him an oddly piercing look one day in August. It was close to September, the stick-like woman studying him with her pale eyes and sharp expression. It was a cold, calculating look that he didn't like. Yet the expression was oddly suitable to her facial structure.

"You know, I never liked your… magic school," her nose wrinkled, eyes creasing slightly as disgust passed over her face. Wiping her hands on her apron, she ran her fingers over the edge of the kitchen wall, as if searching for something. After a few moments, she made a soft sound of triumph and she pulled out an old letter from within the wall. "Take this letter, it was meant for you. It was supposed to have been given to your mother, but then she died and... Well... it passed to me. Some day, somehow, you will be tired of everything you've gone through. You won't have anything to look fondly back on, nor will you want to be in your… magic world anymore. When I was younger, my grandfather gave me this letter. He told me the same words, but now I'm here and I'm happy. Maybe one day you will go to Stardew Valley and raise up the old farm from its ashes, but that will be far into the future." Something about her words made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his insides going cold.

Petunia had snorted derisively, her eyes hard as ice, and glittering cruelly like shattered shards of glass. "I don't even know why I'm giving you this. Maybe you'll find some use of it, make yourself finally useful. Like my grandfather said, don't open the letter until you've come to a point in your life where everything has fallen around you and you can't bear anything any longer. Good luck."

That had been one of those moments where Petunia had talked to him for that long. Normally she could not stand him, but maybe she felt bad for him. For a few days after that, he had gotten a pair of new clothes for once and larger meals. A new blanket for his thin mattress, and one of Dudley's old pillows.

The third time Stardew Valley was mentioned, it was in the letter that he had finally opened. At age twenty-two, Harry James Potter was in the Auror Corps. He had married his long-time sweetheart Ginny Weasley shortly after her graduation, but it wasn't long before she was pregnant. The young man had been overjoyed at her pregnancy, but the day that the baby was due (October 30th), something went wrong.

Ginny's pregnancy had been tough, but according to her mother, every girl went through a rough period in her life. The couple hadn't been so sure. At the first appointment, the doctor had said that her hips were narrow and it would be difficult for the child to come out. And when she did go through childbirth, it wasn't all unicorns and daisies.

Dahlia Ginevra Potter had been born very sickly, and after the birth, Ginny was frail and susceptible to illness. A few days after the birth, mother and daughter fell ill. To what, Harry didn't know. Then, Dahlia started coughing up blood. Ginny followed soon after. The hospital didn't have the supplies needed to prevent and treat this illness, and on Christmas day they succumbed to the sickness in their sleep.

Harry had been distraught of course. Throughout the months his wife and daughter had been sick, he had done his best to get them the professional care they needed. Yet, it hadn't been enough. Molly Weasley's grief and wrath was a sight to be seen, shrieking at him when he came to tell them the horrid news.

That didn't help either. He was thin at the time he told them of her death, his bones jutting sharply against his skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His cheekbones were sharp, his normally bright green eyes dull with shock and denial. The beginning stages of grief. Months passed in his job, and he grew increasingly more reckless, volunteering for the more dangerous bounties.

Admittedly, he had forgotten about the letter throughout the entire time period. Now that he was actually cleaning up his house for it to be packed up and sent to storage, he fished it out of a stack of papers that his former wife had had laying around. Harry stared at the spidery script scrawling across the thick paper, his face blank as he tried to remember where it came from.

..Didn't Aunt Petunia give him this? His mind raced, struggling to pull out the memory from his childhood. Wasn't it given to him right before he left for Hogwarts? Something about Stardew Valley and her grandfather, right? His great-grandfather. Harry's mouth went dry as sandpaper, making him lick his lips nervously as he twisted the envelope to the back and studied it uncertainly.

Running a hand through his thick mane of black hair, he ignored the few strands that flopped right back over his eyes and carefully pulled apart the back flap. The letter that almost fell out of the envelope was yellow from age, making Harry overly cautious as he carefully sifted through the two delicate pages.


End file.
